


the choice of a boundless future, with her heart

by mollivanders



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, Coda, F/F, Music/Science OTP, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 03, Self-Discovery, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:54:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22012150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollivanders/pseuds/mollivanders
Summary: As Diana writes her music, Winifred plans for her future education. One year more of experience, and she can attend the Sorbonne with no strings attached from her family or otherwise. There are things Diana understands now, without them having ever directly spoken of it: how Winifred has sought no other courtship, how she does not pine for Gilbert, how her dream is the Sorbonne and becoming a doctor, and how some paths are simply easier when trod together.(There are things Winifred must know about her, Diana thinks, that she also does not speak of.)[Written for the Kindred Spirit Secret Santa over on Tumblr]
Relationships: Background, Diana Barry & Anne Shirley, Diana Barry/Winifred Rose, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley, Josephine Barry/Gertrude, and references to
Comments: 31
Kudos: 109





	the choice of a boundless future, with her heart

**Author's Note:**

> I am sort of charmed by the idea that Winifred thought she and Gilbert were both marrying for other, non-love reasons, and that going to Paris and the Sorbonne was her dream as well (the Sorbonne granted its first doctorate of science to a woman in 1888, a mere 11 years before S3 of the show). She did love medicine, it seemed, and human anatomy, so – I went with a _new_ Paris dream. Regarding timelines and such, it seems that S3 took about a year with the students being mostly about 17 when they go off to Queens, and that’s what I’m assuming here, with a three year timeline (two years for Queen’s and a year for Diana’s additional training, mostly so she’s 20 by the end).  
> 

Sometimes, it feels like Diana’s first year at Queen’s flies past her faster than anything she’s known before; a thousand new experiences to absorb, adventures to pursue, dreams to build, and all on her own except for the two people whom she loves most in this world.

Anne, of course, is absorbed in her own way, and as Diana couldn’t be happier for her friend and her romantical resolutions, she finds herself in the company of the only other person who seemed to see her even when she could not see herself. Aunt Jo, it turns out, is more than happy for the company, and Diana loses herself in music practice on the grand piano, bigger than anything at the boarding house, and stories of the beloved past. Aunt Jo and her Gertrude have a romance equal to anything Diana has heard before, and in many ways, happier. She thinks of her parents and their plans for her in Paris, and knows this much to be true – conformity is no assurance of contentment, let alone anything better.

(She dreams of better.)

But the hours between Anne’s adventures and Aunt Jo’s company seem slower to her, filled up with snow and empty rooms and wondering what else her future may hold, now that she’s cast off from a familiar shore. And so, when she returns to Queen’s for her second year, she is determined that this time, she will not wait for her next adventure.

She’ll build it herself.

+

It’s a crisp autumn afternoon when Diana sees her across the café, sitting alone by the window, and though there is a book open before her, Winifred thoughts are clearly far, far away. She could turn away without being seen; they had only ever been introduced once at the Avonlea fair, and perhaps a year is not enough time to remove the sting of Avonlea memories, or that day. In fact, she thinks, there are _countless_ reasons not to cross the room and speak to her. There are a million, most likely. Her mother would call them _sound reasons_.

(Her mother, Diana thinks, would never have applied to Queens.)

“Miss Rose?” she asks, extending her hand as Winifred looks up, startled from her reverie. “Would you mind if I joined you? I just popped in for tea.”

Winifred’s eyes flicker – perhaps many of the very sound reasons not to speak to each other cross her mind as well – but it is a warm flicker of recognition, in spite of it all. She presses Diana’s hand with a smile and gestures for her to sit down, clearing a space at the table for her.

“It’s lovely to see you again,” Winifred says, setting down her book. “You’ve enrolled at Queens?”

“Second year,” Diana says, still stinging from the lack of support from both her parents, and at Winifred’s arched brow she adds, “I was meant to attend finishing school in Paris. I decided I wanted a different life.”

“Indeed,” Winifred says quietly, her thumb tracing the spine of her book. “I know something about that, myself.”

+

It becomes, almost accidentally, a weekly appointment. Their schedules align between the end of Diana’s music class and Winifred’s afternoon break from Dr. Ward’s office (and a certain Mr. Bones). She’s returned to her old position after a year abroad, secure of avoiding unhappy meetings with Gilbert, still hundreds of miles away. If anything, Winifred seems resolutely indifferent to the failed courtship, as if it represented something other than love to her.

(It is almost, Diana thinks, as if it represented something entirely different.)

It’s on their third or fourth meeting that Diana asks about the books Winifred is always reading when she arrives. It would perhaps be bad manners to mention that she has another friend who is dearly fond of reading, but these seem to be a different type of books entirely, filled with diagrams and formulas that escape Diana’s scientific background.

“You seem particularly interested in medicine,” Diana says, flipping through the pages of the most recent book. “Is that why you returned to work with Dr. Ward?”

“I had plans to study,” Winifred says, her tone abruptly cautious. “There aren’t many universities which accept women into the sciences, but – ” The way she bites at her lower lip twists something in Diana’s heart as she adds, “Paris offers many opportunities to women that aren’t available here.” She pauses before adding, “The Sorbonne wanted me to have more experience before considering me for candidacy, however.”

“How odd,” Diana says, thoughts flying. “To me, Paris always represented fewer opportunities; fewer choices; not more.”

“Finishing school,” Winifred says, a smile at the corner of her mouth, “is a very different thing,” and Diana looks at her archly.

“And then marriage,” Diana adds, a bitter note coloring her tone. Her father’s words still echo in her heart, forestalling her return to Avonlea anytime in the near future. _You have one job, one task in life, and you will do it! You will be finished! And then you can negotiate with your husband for whatever you damn well want!_ She hasn’t been back home since she’d come to Queen’s, almost terrified they would not let her return, and her mother’s rare visits with Minnie May are all that connect her to her old home now.

(She is, however slowly, acclimating to her new reality.)

“That is not something you want?” Winifred asks, suddenly curious, and Diana’s stomach drops. There is no judgment in her voice, but shame still tugs at Diana’s gut; a ghost of her family’s dreams for her, ruined and settled upon her little sister, alone now in that big house. She knows, rationally, it would not be different if she had gone to Paris; it might well have been worse. At least now Minnie May knows of another life; of the possibility of choosing her own path. So do her parents, and well might they mind it.

(It does little to assuage the weight on her heart, all the same.)

“Not…as much as other things,” she says, hesitating as she answers. “It would mean the end of opportunities for me, as you spoke of.”

“It is possible,” Winifred said, locking eyes with her new friend, “that marriage can open doors as well. If it’s the right marriage, with the right person.”

They are skirting dangerous territory, and they realize it at the same time, leaning back into their seats and sipping their tea.

“I want music to open doors for me,” Diana says, pivoting the conversation back to safer waters. “Concert halls, composers, singers, _learning_ to do those things, to _compose_ music of my own.”

“Then you shall,” Winifred says, smiling gently again. “For if I have learned anything from you, Miss Barry, it is that you are unafraid to pilot your own course.”

For some reason – the comment sticks with her.

(When she mentions it to Aunt Jo, the older woman smiles knowingly, as if she understands still something more than Diana – at least for now.)

+

She dreams, in bright and chaotic colors. She thinks she must, for she wakes with a sense of misplaced urgency, her mouth dry and heart racing as she tries to remember what the details were, and why it had such an effect upon her.

“Diana?” Anne asks from the other bed, sitting up in concern. “Are you alright?”

“Just thirsty,” she manages to answer, pouring herself a glass of water. It steadies her breathing, but as her eyes fall closed once more, something in her still reaches out to what came before –

(What may, she wonders, come once again.)

+

Her studies are different from the other girls, in that Aunt Josephine has since helped her coordinate a curriculum designed to provide access to the future she dreams of. Music fills her days and her dreams as she is given full scope for her imagination, putting notes to pages in ways she had only wished for before. She taps out new compositions on the dining table, steps to unheard music in the hall.

She even hums in her sleep, according to Anne, who seems delighted by the whole revolution.

(Yet music is a dream – and dreams can still be taken away.)

“That’s true,” Winifred agrees, sitting next to her on the settee after dinner. Aunt Jo had invited them both for dinner once, and then converted the invitation into a standing one. Something in her eyes dance as she talks with them, something that made Diana’s thoughts stray from music to the pictures strewn around her aunt’s house. The most revealing ones were never downstairs, for just anyone to happen upon, but they had been going to dinner at Aunt Jo’s for over a month before Diana realized how odd it might appear to some that there were no pictures of men in the house. “It does not follow, however, that we should give those dreams up,” Winifred says, and catches Diana’s eyes.

“Indeed,” she murmurs thoughtfully, sipping at her after dinner coffee.

(There are many dreams, she is finding, for which she would fight, gladly.)

She wants, desperately, to ask what both ladies think of each other.

(She cannot seem to find the words.)

+

The year at Queens ends with a ball for all the students and their suitors. It occurs to Diana that it might seem odd to some that she doesn’t have a suitor, and more to those who know her, that she has rejected offers from several suitors over the two years there. She doesn’t have the time – and it is most of the reason why she’s declined all such offers for herself.

(More than that, she finds that _she_ isn’t interested.)

Her first brush with courtship in Avonlea had left her with a bad taste for it, and after all, she knows she is in Charlottetown and not Paris for a very good reason. If that was the life she had wanted – she could have had it, in many forms and with more support than she now has.

Rather – she is beginning to think it is not the life she wants at all. As Anne applies for a teaching position in Charlottetown to stay close to Diana, Aunt Jo, and Cole and plans out her future beyond Prince Edward Island with Gilbert, Diana begins to consider exactly what she _does_ want for her own future.

For some reason, her thoughts, beyond her music, keep returning to Winifred.

+

“Anne,” she says, just loud enough for her friend to hear, just as they are falling asleep, “are you awake?” She feels she cannot talk about this during the day, when something she does not yet understand yet could betray her, even to her bosom friend.

(More than that – especially to her.)

“What is it?” Anne asks with sudden concern and Diana winces, knowing her friend has never fully adapted well to surprises in the middle of the night.

“Do you think it seems odd that I am such good friends with Winifred?” she asks, sitting up to find Anne also sitting up, watching her from her bed. “Considering how our acquaintance was made?”

“I think it’s lovely,” Anne says, calm again, and smiles in the dark. “She seems a lovely person, from your accounts.”

“You are not…offended by it?” Diana asks, her voice almost a hushed whisper. “When she was…almost…” Her voice trails off as Anne shakes her head.

“I would not begrudge my bosom friend any happiness in this world,” Anne says, and crawls out of bed to sit next to Diana. “Is that all you are asking?”

“I am not sure,” Diana confesses, looking down at their now clasped hands. “I only know that I prefer her company to almost anybody’s, but yours.”

“That is the highest praise you could speak,” Anne says and pulls her into a tight hug. “If she – this friendship – makes you happy, what could I have to say against it?”

Something tight in Diana’s heart, something that she didn’t even know was there, eases in a soothing wave as Anne crawls back to her own bed, rest calling her quickly.

(It’s the first good night’s sleep Diana has had in, honestly speaking, _years_.)

+

As Diana writes her music, Winifred plans for her future education. One year more of experience, and she can attend the Sorbonne with no strings attached from her family or otherwise. There are things Diana understands now, without them having ever directly spoken of it: how Winifred has sought no other courtship, how she does not pine for Gilbert, how her dream is the Sorbonne and becoming a doctor, and how some paths are simply easier when trod together.

(There are things Winifred must know about her, Diana thinks, that she also does not speak of.)

Their dinners with Aunt Jo remain a weekly appointment, and when Cole arrives on visits from the Art Academy in New York City, the house is as full as a summer’s night. It’s those nights Diana begins to treasure the most, and as Winifred walks her up the stairs to the boarding house, her heart beats faster with forbidden, wild thoughts; thoughts she would be afraid to tell anyone but Aunt Jo.

(Except – except for – )

+

She asks Aunt Jo a question she never imagined asking, on a summer day just turning to autumn once more, her final music studies taking up her days more than ever.

“Aunt Josephine,” she asks, turning from the piano keys to face her, and tries to ignore the way her face is burning, “may I ask – how did you – ” She sighs, collecting herself. “You and Gertrude must have started out somehow. How did you know?”

Aunt Jo smiles, the wisdom of elders and youth in her at once. “Oh, we knew,” she says. “Both of us. It just took one of us to take the _first step_.” She places the special emphasis on words that speaks another language, and Diana takes a shaky breath. “Dear heart,” Aunt Jo says, moving to place a hand on Diana’s shoulder, lifting her chin with the other. “Take courage.”

Sometimes, it feels as if that’s what Diana does these days, over and over.

“I shall,” she affirms, and steadies herself with a long breath. “I must build my own future.”

(The way Aunt Jo’s eyes sparkles make her think, _maybe – perhaps – yes_.)

+

Aunt Jo hosts Gertrude’s party again that year, insisting she would not skip it for the world. The worst of winter holds off long enough for all the guests to arrive, along with a few surprises. There are a few surprises Anne likes, Diana knows, and convincing Gilbert to attend the party this year makes the list. She is unutterably grateful that Gilbert’s presence, a sting more than two years old, does not deter Winifred in the slightest, and that she even encourages the idea.

“Your friends deserve to be happy,” Winifred says when Diana broaches the idea over tea. “We all deserve that much.” She covers Diana’s gloved hand with her own, and the way Diana’s heart pulses at even the simple contact is painfully obvious but it doesn’t startle her companion. Instead, she turns her hand under Diana’s to trace a slow, comforting pattern against her wrist.

“The human body is a marvel,” Winifred says as Diana’s pulse steadies, and delight sings in her eyes. “Don’t you think?”

“You _will_ still come to Aunt Jo’s party?” Diana asks, the question bursting from her like lightning, and Winifred’s hand stills under hers. “I would love so much for you to see it, and to be there.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Winifred says, and her mouth twists with amusement. “You have sung its praises enough, I certainly must make its acquaintance.” It is just the sort of off-kilter thing for Winifred to say, so marvelous in its refusal to behave normally while acting as if she is, that all the nerves leave Diana’s body.

(With the end of her third year in Charlottetown looming, she thinks – it’s about time she asked the most important questions.)

+

She takes more than a little satisfaction in Winifred’s astonishment at the opening of the party, hundreds of flowers hanging from the ceiling, incandescent perfumes mixing with the happy chatter of the guests. She recognizes guests from years past, happy reunions all around them.

“It’s…beyond wonderful,” Winifred says quietly, drinking in the riotous decorations for a home she already knew so well. Diana had never heard her so reverent. “I can hardly speak of it.”

“Come,” Diana says, practically pulling her along. “I want to introduce you to Cecile Chaminade.”

Their skirts swish against each other in a delightful rhythm, and by the time they reach their destination they are both decorated in flowers. Winifred’s hand is still clasped in Diana’s, and in a decisive burst Diana decides she will not let go until she has to. She will not let go until Winifred does.

(Miraculously, Winifred’s hand stays clasped with hers.)

“I hear you are pursuing your music career after all,” Cecile says after introductions, and her warm embrace forces Diana to let go at last. “Have you any plans after you finish your studies?”

“I would like to travel, as you suggested,” Diana says. “But I don’t know where to start.”

“Have you considered Paris?” Cecile asks, and Diana glances over at Winifred reflexively.

“Not in so many words,” she says, swallowing hard. Cecile waves her hands dismissively, as if this is a minor issue.

“As you are to pursue music, begin with Paris,” she says. “And then Vienna, and perhaps even Moscow, for all the great musicians eventually visit there.”

“You really think I could socialize with them?” Diana asks, blushing with pride as Cecile grins widely.

“More than that,” she says. “I insist you _shine_ there as well.”

As Cecile is captured by other guests, Diana and Winifred move to the sidebar, watching the dancing begin. Across the dance floor, Anne and Gilbert are closely knit, forehead to forehead, in an outrageous display that foretells more outrageous displays. It makes Diana unspeakably happy, and strangely jealous.

(Of Anne, of the openness of their plans – and she knows her own path lies elsewhere.)

“Would you like to dance?” she asks Winifred suddenly, extending her hand. Arching an eyebrow, she says, bravely putting all the coy effort into her voice as her mother ever trained her to do, “this is exactly the sort of party for that.”

Winifred does not speak in so many words; she does not make a mischievous remark; she does not laugh. Here, amidst people quite like herself, she only beams without restraint. Their hands slip back together as they make their way to the dance floor, a slow waltz taking up the dancers. United quiet reigns between them; a steady peace that wells inside Diana like a hidden strength. She lets Winifred lead, and then leads herself, and wishes violently that the music never ends.

(She should write such a composition for this very purpose.)

“Would you consider Paris, then?” Winifred asks as she twirls Diana out and then back, and Diana feels sure she can feel the pounding of her heart, as close as they now are. Across Winifred’s shoulder, she sees Anne beaming at them both, distracted from her own joy by happy revelation.

“Would you consider me?” Diana breathes, and as Winifred presses a kiss to her forehead, relieved tears spill down her cheeks. She had not known she was so committed; so hopeful.

(She overflows with both such sentiments, and more.)

“I have considered nothing else for two years,” Winifred admits, blushing and as breathless as Diana. “I hardly dared dream for so much.”

“Let’s dream together then,” Diana says firmly, and as the music ends, they disappear from the party down a hall, together.

+

“It happened a little like that,” Aunt Jo tells Diana, pulling her aside as she and Winifred are leaving the party. The winter wind bites at her cheeks even from the open door, but her eyes are merry and Winifred’s curls, too clearly mussed for proper society, keep drawing her attention back to them. “For Gertrude and me.” She presses a familiar kiss to Diana’s crown and gently ushers her along, telling Winifred along the way, “Make sure you take care.”

(The love and care and support and minding in that statement would make Diana float home – if she wasn’t still dancing on clouds from her evening company.)

+

When Diana graduates, Cecile organizes a position for her in Paris; enough to get her started. Winifred’s position at the Sorbonne waits for her in turn, a new beginning by new means. There is nothing so natural, their families decide, as two ladies traveling together as companions, and when Cole offers to sail with them, it is all decided very quickly. An apartment is secured in the best part of Paris, close to the symphony and the university, and Cecile tells her warmly that the windows face west.

(They are leaving; but they will not leave home entirely behind.)

“I shall miss you terribly,” Anne whispers, clutching Diana’s shoulders. The dock sways under their feet, busy passengers and crew all around them. Winifred waits on the gangplank, patience and joy in her soul. Adventure is taking them both, at last.

“Not so much as I,” Diana whispers fervently before they reluctantly let go of each other. “I shall never have a bosom friend like you, my dear Anne.”

“But you shall have new friends, and more,” Anne promises, knowing the future better than Diana ever hoped she could. “And we shall meet in the middle, again.”

“Pen pals?” Diana asks, grinning, and Anne laughs, pulling her into another hug.

At last they break apart, and Diana reaches Winifred once more. She takes her hand anew, squeezing it comfortably. She casts one last look at her home, one where she found herself in more ways than she could have imagined, before happily turning towards a new home of her own, their own. She imagines the apartment in Paris, with flowers on the windowsill and a piano in the sitting room, and a whole medical library for Winifred.

(And across the horizon – they build a love and future, of their very own making.)

_Finis_

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like Diana loved Anne in AWAE and it's hard to imagine her ending up with a man in this adaptation, so I was more than happy to fill the prompt of Diana/Winifred for the Kindred Spirit Secret Santa! :D I also made an [aesthetic post](https://ladytharen.tumblr.com/post/189931600994/the-choice-of-a-boundless-future-with-her-heart) over at Tumblr for the fic :)


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